A&E or unplanned admission

Hospital sockets sit behind the bed, above head height, or on the far wall. A standard 1m cable means choosing between charging your phone and being able to reach it. Three metres reaches the bed every time.

Bed baths depend on staff time. Large fragrance-free wipes let someone freshen up on their own schedule, which for a lot of patients matters more than any bunch of flowers.

Chemo chairs and day units run cold, and drips make you colder still. A zip or button front can be draped over a cannulated arm rather than threaded onto it — a pullover simply can't be worn.

Essential not just for sleeping, but for sensory dampening — a way to zone out when daytime ward lighting and activity become overwhelming. The contoured cups keep all pressure off the eyes, which matters when someone is lying flat for long stretches.

Far superior to foam earplugs, which fall out or ache after an hour. Moldable silicone sits flat over the ear canal, blocks out drip alarms and snoring, and stays comfortable when you're lying on your side against the pillow.

Ultra-thin flat speakers mean patients can listen to podcasts, music and audiobooks comfortably while resting sideways against the pillow, without hard earbuds digging into the ear. It doubles as a light-blocking band for daytime rest.

A ward pillow is thin, sweaty and shared. Bringing one from home — or a new one that lives in the hospital bag — is the cheapest way to make a strange bed feel survivable, and it comes back out again for the sofa afterwards.

Hospital pillows are covered in wipe-clean waterproof plastic that makes you sweaty, clammy and miserable. A pillowcase from home makes the bed feel less clinical, and darker colours are the most practical choice for hospital life — they hide the inevitable marks and cope well with repeated washing.

Tired hands drop things, and a bare tablet slides off a bed table at the worst possible moment. A rugged case with a built-in stand means it survives the fall and props itself up on the tray table without anyone holding it.

Holding a phone up while lying flat is tiring and drops it on your face eventually. A clamp arm makes films and video calls possible for someone who can't sit up.

A four-hour infusion next to a beeping pump is exhausting. Noise cancelling turns a shared bay into something bearable, and doubles as a signal that someone needs a rest from conversation.

Side sleeping with earbuds in is a special kind of ache, and over-ears slide off when you're flat. Open-ear or sleep-specific designs let someone listen through the small hours without a lump pressed into their ear.

Medication, anaesthetic and long nil-by-mouth waits leave a mouth that tastes of nothing good, usually at the point when brushing your teeth means a trek to the bathroom. Something strong in the locker drawer is a very small thing that helps a lot.

Nil-by-mouth waits, dehydration and the bone-dry air on wards can leave lips cracked within a day. An unscented balm is easy to keep by the bed and use without adding another strong smell when you already feel queasy.

Jug water goes warm in an hour and needs both hands and a sitting position. A straw lid makes drinking possible with one arm cannulated and the bed barely tilted, which is the difference between sipping all afternoon and giving up.

When taste changes, water can taste metallic or simply unbearable. A splash of cordial is the cheapest way to make a jug of ward water appealing again, and staff are usually glad of it.

Everything lives in this bag for the duration and gets moved every time a bed does. Soft sides squash into a locker, a shoulder strap frees a hand for a drip stand, and something you actually like the look of makes the whole business feel less like an emergency.

Ward rounds happen fast and often when someone is half asleep. Writing questions down beforehand, and answers afterwards, is the single most useful thing a patient can do for themselves.

Pull-over tops are impossible with a drip line, a shoulder injury or an abdominal wound. Buttons let a patient dress themselves, which is often the first bit of independence they get back.

Bags can get separated from their owners during ward moves, trips to theatre and the rush to get home. A name and contact number give someone a way to reunite you. A privacy flap keeps those details covered until they’re needed.